


Ma Belle

by NoelleAngelFyre



Series: House of Rogues [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Cornfields and Moonlight, Gen, Halloween Theme, mother-daughter bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12632055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleAngelFyre/pseuds/NoelleAngelFyre
Summary: She doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve this beautiful creature who calls her ‘Mother’, but this beautiful creature is hers, will always be hers, and she will never sacrifice this precious gift.





	Ma Belle

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late to the party for a Halloween-themed piece, but I just couldn't ignore my dear Iris' birthday - and this one also fits in with "House of Rogues". Just a sweet little oneshot with some extra-gooey mother and daughter time. :) Hope everyone had a great Halloween!

“How much _further_?”

“Patience, _ma belle_ ,” after long weeks of exhaustion, grim line of determination and stubbornness thinning lips, there is a genuine sense of relief to feel her lips curve and part in a smile, “trust your mother.”

“I do, Mommy.” Blue eyes, bright on youthful features, look upward and eagerness expels the impatience of short years. A little hand reaches up and catches long slender fingers tight; reassured of her mother’s direction, Celeste tosses aside impatience and embraces the curiosity which runs honest and true through her veins. Around her, the world is stalks of decaying corn, extending high with diseased fingers erupting from swallow graves, and the smell of dry earth.

(It’s all fascinating to the blue eyes, roaming near and far just to take in every last thing around her. No detail is insignificant. No glimpse is fleeting.)

The corn parts; folds down beneath an ageless touch. Celeste gasps, then claps her hands and declares delight in wordless cries. She runs, abandoning her mother for the open embrace of dry cracked stalks and black velvet skies. Her arms spread wide, little dove flying free, golden hair streaming free in her wake. She laughs. She shouts without words. She spins and twirls dead kernels around her ankles. She is young, and she gets to _be_ young.

“Come, beloved.” Iris says, arms open; Celeste does not hesitate, but runs and fills her mother’s embrace. The child is still too young for strength in her little body, but Iris is ready all the same: she falls, backwards, arms full of blonde curls and lithe limbs, and lets the ground catch them both. Celeste’s laughter rings in the air between them: bright and clear and glorious.

“Look to the sky, darling girl.” Iris whispers, low and soft in her ear. “What do you see?”

The gasp, tumbling off soft pink lips, is musical. “Light.” Celeste breathes, curling close to her mother’s breast as though sharing a great secret. “So much light, Mama.”

This moment is as it once was, fourteen years prior: a velvet sky, a smattering of starlight, and the full moon erupting in all her glory across the inky canvas. For Iris, it is surreal. The last time she was here, in this place, at this time, she was a child: misunderstood, belittled, derided by all save the man who held her to his chest, cradled her in an embrace promising tenderness in the same breath as it did vengeance for all wrongs committed against her. The night began with tales of Halloween lore, lazily swayed into the satisfaction of hearing over-active imaginations shrieking, and concluded with a kiss imprinted at the corner of her lips.

Now, she holds the child of their love at her breast, at her heart. She hears Celeste’s gentle breaths, feels the silk of her skin, and marvels at her existence. Wonders at this life brought into existence—at the life which came from _her_ body. How did something so pure and perfect come from _her_?

She doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve this beautiful creature who calls her ‘Mother’, but this beautiful creature is hers, will always be hers, and she will never sacrifice this precious gift.

“Listen to me now, my beloved one,” Iris whispers, returning the secret shared between them in equally low tones, “I have something very important to tell you.”

Those sweet blue eyes turn upward, chin rested at her mother’s breastbone, and she curls closer: folds herself into the familiar shapes of her mother’s body.

“You are so very precious to me, Celeste.” Iris murmurs; fingertips dance through golden curls: slow, methodical, gentle. “Your mother loves you. Your father adores you. There is nothing we would not do for you. There is nothing we would not do to protect you, to defend you…and to avenge you.”

(There are questions in her eyes, but the words do not yet exist in her vocabulary. Yet. In a matter of months, perhaps even weeks, that will change. And it will change very quickly.)

“So, now, you must make me a promise.” Arms cocoon her small shape closer, allowing no distance between them. “If anyone does anything to you, tell me. Tell your father. And we will take care of it.”

(She does not explain how she will take care of it. Celeste doesn’t ask.)


End file.
